


The Face of the Moon

by 5wedishchef



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Vikings, F/F, Iceland doesn't appear for a bit, Mental Health Issues, This is going to be intricate so get ready, Those are very much a theme here :)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2018-05-12
Packaged: 2019-05-05 22:56:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14628764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/5wedishchef/pseuds/5wedishchef
Summary: The life of a seer, a wayward shield-maiden, and a fuel over a Jarldom that extends well into the Kingdom of Sweden.After her mother's sudden death, Kalta Mey took over as a seer and devotee to Mani, the god of the moon and protection of the orphaned. As the Midsummer's Kaupung (market) begins, the seer must return home.





	The Face of the Moon

              Though Kalta would not consider herself wizened by any means, her trek to the Kaupang felt significantly longer than usual. The tonic filled hides sloshed in their basket while the blessed stones at the bottom pulled her down. Her old field mare, on the other hand, had become quite wizened. She fumbled for steps with overly labored breath more often than not. Perhaps it was the new path she’d chosen out of the fjord. Though, likely not. Kalta breathed out a soft sigh and glanced down at the city far below them. When she was a girl, this trip took her half the day.

              Glancing upwards through the pines she saw the sun was slowly creeping towards the middle of the sky. Twisting her lips in annoyance she tugged with some force on her mare’s lead rope. They had to make it before nightfall or they would miss the start of the ceremonies and her father would begin to cause a scene. While that was hard to do, if she managed to accomplish it was something she would thoroughly regret. And so, she quickened her pace and ignored the baskets as they came down on her back a little heavier.

              She took her first stop when the sun was almost directly overhead. The length of the days gave her enough of an excuse to sling the baskets onto the soft dirt and plant her backside on a particularly mossy rock. She sucked in a deep breath.

An episode had been creeping up on her and this was not the time nor the place, so she did her best to center herself. She closed her eyes and listened to the harsh _chack_ of the woodland chat somewhere nearby and the hush of the fir trees. The rains had been sparse this year and the needles of the trees sounded like the crackling of kindle before a great bonfire erupts. Beneath her, the moss was slowly soaking through her thin layers. The damp cool would be welcome when she returned to the journey, however in the moment it was making her far too aware of how much time had already passed.

Anxiety rising, Kalta tilted her head back as the wind ripped through the trees, drawing a loud rasp from their quiet once more. The roiling inside her remained. The feeling resembled being pulled and pushed apart at the same time. She took off a shoe and dipped her foot in the icy stream in front of her. As the water was disrupted the red clay began to swirl and cloud the crystal water. It looked like blood.

              Njord, the god of the wind and sea, was known to calm nature and Kalta briefly wondered if she should offer something to his wife, Skadi. He could perhaps calm the waters in her chest.

              Kalta leaned forward and the small bits of hair framed her face as she dipped her fingers into the frigid water to pull out some of the red clay. She gave it a once over for any clumps then placidly applied the mud to her face. She knew the motions of the runes by heart and brought intention to the marks traced onto her cheeks and forehead. She drew the lines, the dashes, and finally she circled her eyes and brows. Finished, she wiped her hands on her legs and leaned back, tilting her face to the sun to dry the clay.

              In the end, she did leave a stone for Skadi and sent a prayer to Njord, with hopes that by the time she reached the Kaupang the unrest in her ribs would settle. Soon after, she stood up, shook the moss from her skirts and slung her baskets on her back once more. She carried on down the fjord. The new trip was long and quite hard on her ankles, but it was necessary to cut a different path every few years.

Her second stop came far too soon after the first. Kalta could feel a headache brewing in the back of her head as her body protested the trip. It would pass quickly enough with some food and a little rest.

 Chewing intently, she questioned making the mare carry the stones to give herself a rest. But upon giving the poor beast a once over she decided to let it be. She could carry the stones for a little while longer, they would just take more breaks. It would give her an excuse to move slower without making her feel quite so guilty. Giving the mulish mare a scratch on the nose she rested her forehead against the horse’s nose bone. Kalta shoved the horse’s head away with a curse when the horse nearly sunk in her nose by tossing its head with violence. Scowling, she picked up and began down the mountain again.

              What felt like moments later Kalta noticed the sun sinking in the sky. The tree line had shifted from the evergreen trees that thrived up higher to the yews, birches, and grasses of the lower shore almost without notice. A warm light touched the land and cloaked the land in gold. The scent of wheat and dry grasses hit her nostrils taking the place of cool mountain air and pine. Despite the sun sinking lower and lower in the sky, Kalta noticed that the air was only getting warmer and more humid. She was, thankfully, close.

Resting her back against the damp haunches of her mare, she gave her a firm pat. This would likely be the horse’s final trip down the precarious mountain path, as she would be bringing even more supplies back up the mountain. She would pass the horse on to her father to teach the children how to ride. The horse swatted her unapologetically with its tail to remove both her presence and the flies which were beginning to accumulate. The children would be in for a rough ride.

 But such was the horse. Her horse. No gentle tempered mare for her, only the foulest of the beasts with the most rancorous tempers. That seemed to be the energy she attracted more often than not.

              The sun had just begun to set as Kalta approached the road to the Kaupang. Glancing at her mare, she decided to forego the ceremonious entrance and walk in on foot. She did, however, change her shoes and don a cloak to hide the mud that caked her ankles and shins. As a seer, she did hold some obligation to appearing in a somewhat spectacular and unknowing manner. She was notably hard to find and she could never be seen as she made her way down the fjord.

The truth behind it was that she needed to take different paths to avoid creating a mudslide. That, and following her wasn’t supposed to be easy. Those who took the time to visit the house of Sol and Mani were expected to truly dedicate their time and energy to the gods. That, and disciples of Mani were prone to wander. And a fjord was a better place to wander than through precariously peaceful tribal lands.

              Pulling her hood down over her face, Kalta began the walk into the heart of the Jarldom. Whatever was left of the markings seemed to melt into her skin. She had the ethereal look of a being who did not bathe but somehow walked above the earth. It was all performative, but it held meaning in the end. It was a necessity to life. Her performance grounded her, and calmed the storm inside her. For the moment, the winds that whipped up her insides fell silent. She sent a blessing to Njord and continued down the path.


End file.
